Chapter 13 · The Throne's Hand

"Helen!"

A hand clamped around my ankle before I could take another step.

Cold iron. Hot blood.

Its fingers crushed through my boot and yanked me across the blackstone floor.

Rafe dropped to one knee and caught my wrist. His grip nearly broke my bones.

"Let go of me!"

"Not a chance."

"Rafe, cut it!"

"I'm trying!"

The thing dragged me another foot toward the altar.

No. Not a thing.

A hand.

A massive hand made of red-black stone, its glowing veins pulsing like blood. Its wrist disappeared into the crack beneath the altar, like the throne itself had reached up to claim me.

Behind us, metal hammered against the vault doors.

Imperial troops.

Someone screamed outside. Boots pounded closer with every blow.

"They're breaking through!" Seren shouted from the stairwell. "We've got maybe a minute!"

"Then find another exit!" I yelled.

"There isn't one!"

The hand jerked me again.

My knee slammed into the floor. Pain shot up my leg, but I held on to Rafe.